


Love Letters Lost

by NaomiJameston



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Avoidance, Character Death, Death, Discord: Hearts & Cauldrons SSHG Server, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Paralysis, Requited Love, Seriously this one isn't happy, Terminal Illnesses, but they're stupid, not HEA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:14:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29111397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaomiJameston/pseuds/NaomiJameston
Summary: Healer Hermione can't save everyone, even the man she loves. Warnings for angst and major character death onscreen. NOT HEA.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 17
Kudos: 28
Collections: Hearts and Cauldrons - Daily Prompts!, Hearts and Cauldrons Discord Members





	Love Letters Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks as always to my incredible friends at Hearts&Cauldrons! 
> 
> Beta'd by the incomparable Morbidmuch; original prompt by Turtle_Wexler and Mersheeple.
> 
> Any mistakes are solely my own.

The funeral had been lovely. Small, of course. Severus Snape had been a hero and had single handedly saved the Wizarding World, but his name and reputation were forever tarnished by his involvement with the Death Eaters. He hadn’t minded, even at the end. He’d walked into the arms of death with his head held high and his conscience clear, or so he’d claimed. Hermione hadn’t believed him but she’d learned in her years of healing to never question a patient at the end of his life.

She’d fought the assignment when Head Healer Ambrose had handed it to her. She’d railed, she’d raged, she’d shouted and thrown things, but through it all, Ambrose held the file out calmly. When Hermione had settled and finally taken the file to flip through the first pages disinterestedly, he finally spoke.

“You’re the only one left. I’m sorry.”

And Hermione had been sorry, too. She’d been sorry for ever conceiving the idea that she could be a healer. For developing a reputation for handling the most difficult patients with, ha ha, patience. And especially for being the kind of person who Severus Snape might respond to best.

She’d rung the bell at his house in Spinner’s End one cold morning in late September and had waited impatiently in the drizzle that settled on her curls heavily. By the time Severus had deigned to open the door, she’d resembled a drowned rat.

He’d laughed hoarsely. “You look like a drowned rat, but you wouldn’t be the first in this house. Get in here and don’t drip.”

And thus had begun the longest three years of her life.

~~~~~

She sighed as she entered the tiny house that had come to mean so much to her. It was still old and tired, frayed around the edges, and it was heavy with the smell of death. Hermione paused to lean against the doorframe for a moment. She supposed, in a lot of ways, that she and the house were similar. She also felt old and frayed, and Ron had complained more than once that she reeked of death. She never found out if he meant so literally or if he’d finally discovered metaphors before he’d asked for her ring back. She’d given it without much fuss, relieved more than angry, and they’d parted as distant friends. If Hermione thought of it now, she thought only that she’d been thankful their divorce hadn’t dragged out. It had given her more time to focus on her studies and graduate that much sooner.

She hadn’t felt anything at the _Daily Prophet_ announcements over the next few years that detailed his whirlwind dating life, his proposal to Lavender Brown, their wedding and all of the important people there (with no mention of her absence), and their continual breeding. Lavender was carrying the mantle of Weasley matriarch well. 

She hardly thought of Ron at all anymore. She was far too busy with… She looked around, momentarily at a loss. 

Ambrose had told her to take the rest of the week off, with that tone that implied it was an order rather than a suggestion. But somehow Hermione’s feet had taken her back to the house anyway. She smiled to herself, but there was no joy in it. A healer’s work was never done, after all, even after the patient had passed. Severus had had no family and few friends, so it was up to her to ready the house for sale. She’d helped prepare his will in the weeks before his death, though of course he’d gone over it one last time with his solicitor near the end, and she knew what needed to be done. 

The house was to be given to someone “worthy of it.” She’d thought it an odd phrase and had glanced at the solicitor, but the studious young man in spectacles hadn’t even blinked. He’d written the phrase exactly as Severus had said it, as thought it carried weight. Hermione had thought at the time- and still did- that it was a kind gesture to offer a dying person. To be able to fake such empathy was a skill she hadn’t mastered yet. Actually feeling empathy was so far out of the realm of possibility to be laughable. Hermione Granger did not feel.

She stepped into the kitchen and took a long look around. It would be sad to never see the room again, but the “worthy” person couldn’t possibly hope for anything better. It needed updating and sprucing, but the bones were good. She rolled her sleeves up and set to work. 

She’d kept it clean as a general rule, but now she scrubbed with a vehemence. She started with the fridge, throwing out food with ruthless efficiency. His favorite cheesecake- the last meal he’d wanted- was the first to go. The strawberries decorating the top seemed to mock her with their redness. So like the redness in his face as he’d convulsed at the end. When the paralysis had reached his lungs. When-

Hermione shook herself, standing to shove the horrid cheesecake deep into the bin. The plastic container broke, sliced her finger right along the knuckle, but she didn’t pay any attention. She left drips of red behind her as she scooped food from the fridge. Fruits and vegetables, cheeses and a bottle of wine, his emergency stash of chocolate that he’d encouraged her to dip into- all went into the bin. Milk poured down the drain, and her favourite apple juice followed it. The freezer was faster- everything went straight into the bin. No matter that his ice cream was also her favourite and ridiculously hard to find. Neither of them would enjoy it any more.

She unplugged the fridge to let it dry out and lugged the overfull bin bags to the wheelie bins. Bin day in the morning, how convenient. The lid snapped back, the bin too full to close completely. Hermione hardly paused. She’d set them out fuller than that before and the Muggles had taken them. Severus’ fierce reputation came in handy sometimes. 

The rest of the kitchen was clean in a flash. No need to pack up the dishes- the house would be sold as furnished, per his instructions. 

She paused at the archway that lead to the front room, which was packed with books from floor to ceiling. As much as she wanted to catalogue them, had always wanted to resort them to fit her personal filing system, there was no point. The new owners would have their own particular ways to fix it. She continued down the hallway to the office.

It had become his refuge at the end and he hadn’t left it for weeks. She’d transfigured one of the armchairs into a bed for him and they’d sat there together many a time. She would read from an obscure text, stumbling over the faded Latin and trying not to take offense at his whispered corrections. 

They’d argued here. Not long before the end.

Hermione had wanted him to rest, to save his strength for… something. But he’d shouted at her. He’d said that she just wanted him to linger longer, to suffer further for his actions in the past as though he hadn’t done so enough already. He’d choked and she’d fetched the suction to clear his hardening throat, but as soon as it was clear, they’d started again.

He’d taught her to sneer and she turned one on him.

“It’s no wonder that no one wants to stay with you,” she’d said. “How you delight in your bitterness is beyond my understanding.”

“At least I feel _something_ ,” he’d retorted with his own half sneer. Even with most of his face paralyzed, his sneer was better than hers. “I’d rather be here dying in this damned bed than to be you. I may be paralyzed, no thanks to you, but at least I know how to love.”

“Oh yes,” she’d snorted, “I forgot about your precious Lily Potter. The girl who threw you over for your rival. And what did that get you but your throat half torn out and a body full of venom?”

“Get out,” he’d whispered. “Get out.”

And she had. She’d fled the tumultuous feelings in her head, warring with her brilliant mind. She could name them logically- anger and guilt and helplessness. And love, burning in the icy recesses of her heart that she couldn’t- wouldn’t- acknowledge. Deep, painful love for the man she’d just buried.

She sank into his chair with a sigh. It creaked in just the same way as always, cracking along her heart’s ice like a hammer. Memories started to flood her. Good times. Times they’d laughed together. Times they’d played. Times they’d talked.

The time they came together as one body and soul. The words they’d whispered after. Never of love, of course. They weren’t stupid and they knew it couldn’t- wouldn’t- happen again. But the warmth…

She wiped a suspiciously wet eye and shook her head. There was no point. Just clean the damn house and get out, she chastised herself. Go back to your empty life and be assigned to someone new so you can hold their hand as they cross to Death’s embrace. It was all she was good for anymore.

She pulled open the top drawer of his desk with more force than necessary and it came free from its track. Papers scattered everywhere, some flying on an invisible current of wind to float near the ceiling in mockery. She tossed the drawer on the floor with an ill-tempered flick of her wrist and dropped to her knees to gather the papers in loose piles. 

She sorted as she went. Bills, receipts, a letter from Malfoy that they’d never gotten around to replying, and-

One that had her name. And this envelope, too. And another. And-

There were dozens of them. Letters to her with the date neatly printed on the corner of the envelope as he was wont. Had been wont.

Her hands shook as she opened the first one, dated just the day before his death.

_~~My~~ ~~dearest~~ Hermione, _

~~_I love_~~ ~~_I’m scared_~~ ~~_Please don’t leave me_~~

 _I am sorry. I am so sorry for everything. For the time we’ve squandered when we should have been celebrating. For the words_ _we_ _I said._ _You were right_ _I love you_ _I should have said_ _You were right. I am… avoiding_ _death_ _you_ _everything._ ~~ _I’m scared oh god I’m so scared_~~

 _I met with my solicitor today, as you know. I made some changes to my will, which if you don’t know now you do._ ~~ _I couldn’t let our time together mean nothing_~~ ~~_It meant everything to me_~~ ~~_You mean everything_~~

 _The house is yours, and everything in it. It-_ There was a large splotch of ink. _It holds so much love in it. My parents’ love. The love from my childhood. My love for you now. I want you to have something to remember me by, to have an anchor in your life. And I want you to mourn. You don’t know how yet, but I’m hoping I have one lesson left in me._

_Cry, Hermione. Live. Love again. And for Merlin’s sake, learn to let go of control. Loosen the reins on yourself before you break. You need-_

But Hermione couldn’t see the page anymore. Her eyes blurred with tears and her throat was being ripped raw by a keen. She clutched the page to her chest and screamed. Wind began to whip around her, picking up the scattered pages and spinning them wildly. Words caught her eyes as they flew past. 

_~~I love you.~~ I love you. I love you! _

Her name on every page began to glow red, like a thousand eyes staring at her as they spun. Hermione. _Hermione. HERMIONE._

She laughed, screamed, cried. The house groaned around her, shuddered on its foundations. The walls pulled in as though crushed by a giant’s hand, then exploded out with a loud _boom_.

Then all was silent.

~~~~~

“So what happened?” a gruff man asked, stepping out of a work truck. Its light flashed a dull orange that reflected off his safety vest. He rubbed his nearly bald head, shorn short to make it look intentional, and shoved his hard hat firmly into place.

“Dunno,” a tall and no less gruff man said in reply, “but I heard it was a gas leak.”

“Couldn’t have been,” the first man said, gesturing to the rest of the street. “No damage to the other houses? No other leaks reported?”

The second man shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”

They sorted through the wreckage of the old house in silence, each trying to piece together what had lead to its destruction. Charred wood and shredded fabric was everywhere, books singed beyond recognition scattered throughout. A hallway had partially collapsed, but the men were able to scoot under a support beam without issue and enter what may have once been an office.

“Hey, look at this,” one said.

In the middle of the destroyed room sat a bundle of letters tied neatly with a green bow and a shockingly red carnation. One word was written on the top envelope.

“Hermione?” the second man sounded out. 

As if in response, a wind stirred the papers. They curled as though burning, and flaked into ash, flying high on the wind.

And disappeared.


End file.
